A Place Under Heaven
by malicious-monk-muppet
Summary: Kurt and OC centric. Who am I? Do you really want to know? A twisted web of unbridled ambition and evil machinations ensnare Kurt for reasons he cannot understand. Kurt must confront himself and his inhibitions, and he must also learn to accept that he is
1. The night the devil danced

I would like to say that I do not own x-men, white wolf, or slayer. 

******

The night howled with thunder and lightning. A torrential downpour accompanied the cacophony of sound emitted by the skies. This was a night that no sane creature would be seen. However, one creature was out there, and the violence of the night did nothing to quell the fear that was swelling inside him. Inside an abandoned warehouse in Bayville's dock district sat a poor, downtrodden creature, abandoned by god to whatever that horrible demon wished to do to him. The idea of that twisted fanged visage bearing down on him brought out of him the greatest terror that his soul could evoke. 

He found himself in a dark room, alone with only himself and the booming thunder outside. He tried to move, when he realized he was tied down. As he tried frantically to wrestle his way out of his bonds, the ropes rubbed against his wrists making them hurt terribly. But that pain was inconsequential, as long as he got away. He had to get away. He felt like a caged animal and his instincts took over. He knew no matter what, he had to get away from that thing. Why did this have to happen? He thrashed once again at his bonds with renewed spirit and determination to escape. He halted as a flash of lightning outside revealed his surroundings for only a moment. Boxes, many of them, in a desolate room with a big ceiling with many girders. A warehouse…fitting, no one would hear him scream. Another flash made his stomach sink as a pair of fangs flashed at him from the dark. 

"So how does it feel? Getting a mutant perspective now?" a mocking voice slithered at him. 

"Look man. I...I didn't mean it, honest!" The boy was cut off by another flash of lightning now revealing a pair of golden eyes. Those eyes…those horrible eyes. A demon's eyes. 

__

Ahh the demon inside cooed_…I love it._

The figure came closer and put his face nearer to the teenager's face and stared into his eyes for a bit. The teen recoiled back in pure terror. 

"Stop! That look! Ahhh…I love it. Terror can never be correctly expressed by words alone, it is the eyes that really speak the truth. Eyes never lie." 

At the next flash the teen could see that his assailant had moved away from him and picked up something. The sound of wood knocking against the floor sent chills up his spine. The next flash revealed the demon was once again by his side, now wielding a wooden bat. The teen let out a quick prayer and almost as an answer to his prayer, the demon opened its mouth to speak.

"I wonder…how many swing does it take to split a man's head…hmm?" The kid was too petrified to speak. 

"Well if your not going to answer then I am just going to have to find out, ja?" At that moment, the wooden weapon was raised and crashed against the teen's skull. The kid's head felt rattled and he was having a migraine. He tried to look, but blood had trickled into his eyes, stinging them and making vision impossible. 

"Why me!" the teen whimpered in between blood soaked sobs. The demon stopped for a second and cocked his head like a confused dog, then regained his composure. 

"Why you! Come now, are you usually this slow, or perhaps you just can't think straight anymore. You make others lives a living hell, but when retribution comes for your actions, you plead for your life."

"Wait, I know that voice. Kurt!? Kurt, Kurt! Please, don't do this! Look I can make it up to you! I promise to be..."

__

I've heard enough. 

With that, the demon raised his bat again to finish the deed he had started. The bat came at the kid's face with a massive amount of force. His eyes widened to an inhuman point as the bloodied wooden object came smashing into his face. At the last blow the face plate caved in with a resounding crack. A lightning flash revealed to the demon a splattering of blood against the wall. 

"Hmm I'm stronger than I thought." The body was laying there, most of its brains spread out amongst the smashed-in corpse. The bat was still covered in a mixture of blood and cranial organs as it lay near the meat sac that it had used as a punching bag. A painful death indeed. 

In a flash, Kurt found himself back at the mansion. The smell of brimstone hung in the air from the teleport. Somehow, Kurt had grown to hate that smell. Brimstone…he had never considered why it had been there; it had always just been. The truth hurt. Kurt slumped against the wall of his room. He slowly slid down until he was sitting on the floor, leaving a bloody streak on his bedroom wall. Kurt barely remembered what he did…it had all been a blur. Kurt took a quick glance at himself in the mirror in his room. He was curious because he didn't notice before that the fur around his cheeks was matted down. Had he been…crying? 

"Cursed," Kurt said quietly to himself. "I'm cursed. This life is a cruel trick...God hates me." 

__

You sure showed him, the voice said, trying to reassure him 

Kurt shoved his inner demon way down. He had already had enough exercise for tonight. Kurt got up quickly and smashed his fist against the mirror, shattering it into many pieces that became strewn across the floor. Kurt felt the urge to shout, to break things, to hurt someone, to just do something…he felt ready to explode. 

"What the fuck!" Kurt shouted at the top of his lungs towards the ceiling in his room. "What the fuck is your plan huh!? I tried so hard, so hard to become what you wanted me to become! And I became THIS!" 

Blame it on God…right. Whenever anyone is downtrodden someone blames it on God, or looks to God to make it better. People use God like a tool. Kurt sighed. He knew he was just angry with himself. He had let everything get out of hand. But damnit, this shouldn't be his to handle! Kurt slumped back against the wall, this time bawling his eyes out. Kurt cried like a young child. In between sobs he begged for everything not to be true, for this to be just a nightmare. For anything else to be true…just not the truth. Eventually, Kurt became too tired to cry and too hoarse to shout and beg. He just lay there, quietly moaning.

__

Happy? You pathetic creature, I try so hard and you reject everything I do for you. 

Great, now even his bad conscience was howling in his ear. Kurt was too tired to either rage or bawl in self pity, so he decided to lie down. Kurt noticed his stomach rumbling and in a flash found himself downstairs in the kitchen. He opened the fridge and began to eat and eat, even beyond his normal boundaries, which in most cases, was an entire shelf worth of food. Kurt put down the sandwich he had been eating. 

"Food…my last vice left. Where have I heard that before?" he sighed slowly to himself, He knew what he was doing. Kurt wrapped up the last of his meal and put it back into the refrigerator. He then sat down at the kitchen table. The way his tail was slightly swaying back and forth indicated he was in deep thought. He thought he could control himself, but obviously he couldn't. 

Kurt's eyes moved towards a large kitchen knife on the table. He felt he could not trust himself anymore. He was tired, tired of having to deal with everyone, tired most of all of having to deal with himself. If he could stop feeling…stop being…it would be bliss. 

__

You're a fighter. That's a coward's way out. How childish of you to even consider it.. 

It was true. 

"What am I supposed to do? How did this happen!" Kurt slammed his head against the table, then laid his injured head back down, cursing his now uncontrollable temper. 

" Why did this have to happen to me…". Kurt started to feel groggy when he was quickly startled completely awake by a sound at the door. Oh no! They came back! They are going to find out, oh God, they are going to find out. 

__

You sure complain a lot. If you don't want them to find out, just run. 

Kurt did just that, he quickly teleported out of the mansion. He looked down at his watch to make sure it was still running. When he saw that his identity was still shrouded behind his hologram he bolted off into the night.

* * * * * *


	2. The raging demon from a destined past

* * * * * *

The club manager's flashlight meant that it was finally time. The band had been playing new metal cover songs for a few hours now because they were not allowed to really play until it was late. The club was a typical "underground" hangout. This particular club was a mecca of brutal "black metal" music. Most of it doesn't have much to say but the late night patrons aren't there for up to date political satire. Tonight's band was not an oddity for this club, except for the lead singer. Usually these bands are made up of people in their late 20s, however, the lead singer looked no older than 18. Not that he didn't fit the role. He was tattooed from head to toe and many piercings marred what would have been a pleasantly handsome face. 

The lead singer turned to the rest of his band, "You ready to play?" They nodded in agreement. 

"We're ready Diel," and with that, they turned up their amplifiers. Diel readied his guitar and smirked, THIS was the fun part. Diel walked up to the microphone.

"Ok everybody listen up. We just got the green light, so…1…2…a 1 2 FUCK YOU!" 

Diel was giving his all and the crowd was loving it. Sure, he wouldn't be able to speak correctly for a few days after all this screaming but it was all worth it for the fans. The roar of the crowd, a collective appreciation and admiration for his talents; that is what he did this for. Diel was half way through a song when his hand quickly slipped off the fret board, bringing the song screeching to a halt. Something was wrong. 

"Hey man what's up?" The bassist asked. 

Diel turned back and quietly said, "Look...I...I gotta take a break, ok?" Diel then turned to the microphone, "We are gonna take a short break but we're gonna be back with some seriously heavy shit soon enough!" The band members got a little worried. Diel looked seriously spooked, and when Diel got spooked he usually got...suicidal. 

"Aw man! I knew it! Now THIS is why I come here!" one of the patrons said to his friend. 

"What the hell are you talking about? They just took a break," his friend answered non-chalantly, obviously not understanding why his friend was so excited. 

"Dude! you just don't get it. These guys are Hammer Smashed Face and that's Diel!" 

"So" 

"SO! Dude, whenever Diel walks off the stage like that it means one of two things. He either comes back without getting a fix and brings his guitar with him, meaning more mediocre crap..." 

"Or...?" 

" Or he fucking cokes up backstage and will only do vocals. But the most fucked up vocals you have EVER HEARD! Plus it gets real fucking bloody up there on stage when that happens. I heard Diel can't play in Germany anymore because when he cut his throat on stage, he invited a fan to drink it and she got aids." 

"Oh shit...then this should be good..." 

Diel went backstage, sat down on a large couch, and just stared at the wall thinking. He knew something was wrong; it had to be. Joss had enabled him to play beyond his normal limits, but it had never failed him that quickly. Diel was startled to his senses when his cell phone went off. He flipped it open and took the call. 

"Yeah?" 

"We've got a job for you." 

"Look is this some kind of..."

"Diel Azazel...do not forget who your benefactors are." He had left the surname Azazel way back in the past. His father's name was Azazel, but his father was a cruel heartless bastard.

"Fuck off." This was bad. This was very very bad. He hadn't done a "job" in a long time, he didn't want to. He just wanted to play music and then live the last of his years in a nice place in the Norwegian mountains. 80 years was long enough, he didn't feel like doing Azazel's dirty work or the Camarilla's. They could all go to hell, just leave him be.

__

You know...you shouldn't let anger brew like that. Yeah, it was right. He shouldn't. Sometimes you just have to let rage flow to satiate your cruel desires. They are gonna get a great fucking show tonight... 

Diel quietly approached the stage. He walked with his head down so that the stage lights that normally illuminated the band instead shrouded Diel's face in a mask of shadow. He strolled up to the microphone slow and steady, completely oblivious to the overjoyed screams of the audience. As he reached the microphone, the only part of his face not blanketed in shadow was a pair of gleaming fangs that poked out from under the darkness. 

He slowly raised his head and a wave of light encompassed his face. The fans stopped hollering for a second; everyone was awestruck at how completely mad his face had become. It's wild eyes darted across the room and was accompanied by a sneer just as violent. Diel then turned his face back down and raised his hands to his arms. He dug his nails into his triceps and began to rake across. Sometimes, you can be too strong for your own good. Blood poured over his arms as he tore through flesh and muscle. He stopped once his hands had finished its gruesome deed by coming to the end of his arm. He took a step towards the microphone and held out his arms letting blood drip onto the stage floor under him. 

"We call this, Disciple," he hissed as he tensed his arm muscles, increasing the flow of blood onto the floor. Diel snapped his neck back and howled, " GOD HATES US ALL!" 

"Homicide! Suicide! 

Hate heals, you should try it sometime

Strive for peace with acts of war"

While Diel's lower soul immersed itself in the rage and hatred of the song that it's host was singing and reveling in the agony dug deep into his arms, he just kept remembering what it was all for. Pain, passion, torment, all of it was a way to a greater understanding. Each tear is a new lesson, each cry a vision of faith. Just a sudden flash of light leaves deeper darkness, so the lash of pain creates greater calm. Restraint comes from the fear of pain; hence, welcome pain and banish restraint. Agony should be savored for the insights it brings - insights that turn to higher joys, if you understand their meaning.

"The beauty of death we all adore 

I have no faith distracting me

I know why you're prayers will never be answered!

GOD HATES US ALL; GOD HATES US ALL. 

HE FUCKING HATES ME!" Diel screamed at the top of his lungs, only stopping to spit up his lunch. After he wiped what was left of his lunch from his mouth, he took out a knife he had in his pocket. While the guitars kept playing, he lifted the knife up to his chest. 

"You know what they say, across for blood," he said as he sliced along the top of his chest. "And down like you mean it!" he shouted, as he made another incision down the center of the first cut to make the sign of the cross. 

It was 1:00 in the morning when the concert finally "ended". Diel had lost a lot of blood and had to be carried off the stage because he had passed out. The club owner had been told of Diel's antics by the other band members, so there was already a couch backstage with towels draped over it for the others to lay Diel on. After they situated him on the couch, they left the room. 

They knew Diel never wanted to be disturbed after a concert like this. At one point or another every member of the band had wondered how Diel didn't bleed to death but eventually, each bought into the urban legend of Diel "The Immortal". 

Diel struggled to prop himself up onto the arm of the couch so he could see his wounds. Even he was shocked at how awful he looked. He counted only four cuts, even though his shirt was soaked red and his jeans looked as if he had jumped into a river. Maybe he had gone a little too far. He had already passed out once and he didn't know if he had the energy to heal these deep gashes, especially the ones on his arms. Diel decided that if he couldn't make a full recovery he would at least stop the bleeding. 

He concentrated on the blood pumping through his veins until he could follow the rhythm of his heartbeat and make his breathing synonymous with it. He continued concentrating until he could feel what he sought: It moved like blood throughout his body but felt a little like electricity. His teacher had called it yang chi, the energy of life, motion, and, well, there was a third part that he said, but Diel had forgotten it long ago. It had been many years since he had been formally quizzed on chi, but his practical knowledge of its application was phenomenal. 

To him, this stuff was life's blood. By concentrating these energies to where his injuries are he could mend himself well beyond medical means. This gift was what had started the urban legend of Diel "The Immortal". There was also yin chi, but he was never very good at working with that stuff. Besides, those who rely on that usually start to look and act like corpses; not very good for the life of a rock star. Who wants to be a lethargic stiff anyways? 

Of course it could be worse, he could be a raksha. These guys were bad news, they didn't just defy their inner demon they revel in it. Why Diel was remembering all this now he didn't know. 

He closed his wounds just enough to stop the bleeding. Diel noticed he was starting to slip in and out of consciousness; using his talents usually left him feeling drained. If he didn't bleed all over the furniture, the club manager shouldn't care if he stayed the night, he thought. After that performance, he would be surprised if the manager even had the courage to speak to him again. Of course, the manager might call the cops if he was discovered. Well, that's a risk Diel was willing to take, he couldn't move if he wanted to.

******


	3. A plea to heaven on the ongoing search f...

******

"...hallowed by thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven..." The candle light blanketed Kurt's face in an odd glow. As he knelt before the altar, the light from the candles seemed to dance across his body in waves. Churches usually are not open this late, however there are windows which allow one to see inside, allowing easy access to any teleporter. Besides, why should the lord ever close his doors to those in need? And he was definitely in need. 

"Dear lord, why is it that, even when I try to be a good person something inside me tells me otherwise. Am I really a demon? Earlier, I had shouted at you, blamed you for what I was. But, in reflection, was that really me? Am I a killer? I thought I could control myself, but what should I do? I'm scared. I'm scared not only for what may happen to me, but for what I may do to others. I mean well, I swear I really do. But..." 

Kurt's pleas stopped becoming audible and instead became contained in his mind. He felt that only here could he feel at peace with himself. He felt a calming breeze sweep through his mind, reassuring him that everything was alright. 

He reflected on how events had grown to become the calamity they are now. It all started with a bad dream. He had dreamt of the night that had happened earlier. He saw the same eyes filled with horror, the same body spasming as life fluttered out of it. It was so vivid that when he woke up he could still feel the warm blood on his hands. That is how it started, with a dream. But here, in this church, that dream and even the events that night seemed distant. He never told anyone that he came here, it was his place. His alone and no one could intrude. It was a sanctuary from not only others but from himself, where unwanted elements of his life dare not to intrude. 

"And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought of the fruit of the ground an offering unto the LORD. And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock and of the fat thereof. And the LORD had respect unto Abel and to his offering: But unto Cain and to his offering he had not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell," echoed a voice throughout the church.

"Who are you?" Kurt asked to shadows above. The man continued speaking, unhindered by Kurt's question. 

"And as was such with Cain's kin, the generation after and so on down the line. Each generation weaker than the last, the blood of the accursed growing thinner until Cain's lineage dies out. This is our race's plight. But not so with yours, dhamphyr. The 10,000 hungry dead from across the ocean come back for karmic debts yet to be unpaid. More human than the ones God cursed, permitting them only to walk the earth as truly forlorn creatures. But you are more human still, the amalgamation of a sinful act and the devil's own luck. Is God not cruel in his choosing? We are cursed due to our ancestry, the hungry dead are dammed because of their transgressions in their mortal life, but you are cursed merely for being," bellowed the powerful voice once again.

Kurt stared up at the roof trying to make out a figure in the candle light until that figure leapt to the ground snuffing out all the candles and leaving poor Kurt in utter blackness. 

"And yet you still praise him," continued the man, now mocking Kurt in a much harsher tone, "when you should curse his name for what he has done to you." The voice stopped after that and was replaced by a hand placed on Kurt's shoulder. "But, there are those that are willing to help, if you will but ask it."

Kurt recoiled from the unwanted touch. The man's hand felt almost...chilled. A gut instinct kept Kurt on his guard, his mind had yet to make a judgement but his more primal self had already deemed this man a threat. 

"My dear boy, you seem frightened, can you not see in the dark? An interesting predicament, one that sadly...I have not faced in hundreds of years. I do apologize, let me find you some matches. We Cainites are quite repulsed by flame you see, so I hope you will understand..."

A lone flame in the dark appeared and behind it the face of a man who looked to be in his thirties. A goatee and sunglasses, this was still the middle of the night mind you, added to the overall look of complete and utter eurotrash. His voice seemed respectful enough, it had a hint of majesty to it. His fluid movements added to the idea that he was either a dancer or cared a lot about outward appearance. 

"They call me the scourge, a very misleading title I assure you. I am the personal bodyguard of the prince of New York, among other things. I also attend to his personal wishes, and you my lucky friend, fall under that category." 

"What do you and your Prince," Kurt added with a blatant hint of sarcasm," want from me?" 

"We only want to help you Kurt. You see that Professor of yours, what did the television call him? Professor Xavier, that's it. What the Professor is unaware of is that your abilities lie far beyond mutant talents, we wish to help you develop those talents." 

"Why do you care? Why should you? Not that I believe you." 

"But you know I am right. However, this is an open invitation, I will not force you into anything. Besides, it seems you have a visitor, three is quite a crowd you know," the scourge said as he slowly backed into the shadows and disappeared from view. 

Moon light shown onto Kurt's figure as the church door slowly creaked open. Funny how he never considered that the door might be unlocked.

"Kurt? Kurt are you here?" Kitty asked. She entered and saw him standing in the moonlight by the altar, perhaps it was the odd setting, but he just didn't look like the same old Kurt. 

"How did you find me?" 

"The Professor was worried when you began acting so weird. We put a tracker in your watch. The others are waiting outside, lets get out of here. This place, like, totally creeps me out," she said as she began to approach Kurt. 

"Stay back, Kitty," Kurt said softly. 

"Kurt, like, stop kidding around. We were worried sick," Kitty said while continuing to approaching him. 

"Stay there!" Kurt shouted. 

Kitty stopped dead in her tracks. She had never heard Kurt angry before, he would always just kid around or pretend that he was angry, but by morning he would be the same old prankster he was before. But then again, the figure before her wasn't the Kurt she knew, this one was different. 

"Kurt, please, you're scaring me." 

"I...I'm sorry. I just don't want you to get hurt. I've done something awful Kitty, something that I can't take back." 

"Kurt, you aren't making any sense. What happened?" 

"Duncan and his friends were picking on a mutant today. Some poor kid, they were yelling at him and calling him all sorts of things. I...I wanted to help, I wanted to stop them. I swear, I never meant to hurt anyone, but, but I did. And...and as much as I hate what I did, what is most frightening is that remorse is only a thought to me. It's as if...as if, a part of me really did want to do it, and would gladly do it again." 

"Kurt, the Professor says that you might be hallucinating. Please, let's just go home where we can get this all straightened out, ok?" 

Kurt stood there blankly for a second. Had this all been a dream? Had he just gone crazy? The Professor is a great telepath, he can't be wrong. He tried to think back on the events earlier that night but now it all felt like merely a lucid dream. If he was crazy than he just had to get help, he really wasn't a demon. He was just crazy; mentally ill being the polite term. Being mentally ill seemed a lot more acceptable to him, that meant that there was no crisis of faith, just some chemical imbalance of some sort. That was a relieving thought. 

"Ok Kitty, let's go home." 

******


	4. The violent beginning to a tragic plot

******

Diel awoke to the muzzle of a gun being jammed into the side of his head. Before he could fully come to his senses and realize where he was, two thugs grabbed him by the arms and lifted him to his feet. His eyes met the face of utter eurotrash named Valentino. Not a nice face to wake up to. The clock on the wall said it was three in the morning, what kind of sick fuck wakes a man up at three in the morning? 

"You know," Valentino began, "I had to sit through that whole cacophony you call music. You are just as brash and vulgar as ever. Plus, you told me to fuck off. Not very nice, now is it? I told you not to forget who your benefactors are, we bought you a long time ago and now you belong to us Mr. legendary dhamphyr."

"Fuck you, Valentino." 

"That's Scourge, Valentino to you." 

Diel lunged at Valentino but stopped short when he came face to face with the wrong side of two .45 caliber Python revolvers that got between him and his victim. Valentino moved the two thugs infront of him out of the way and stepped right up to Diel. 

"You know, I was only told by the prince that you needed to be conscious in a few days. The way I see it there is at least an hour before daybreak, plenty of time to mop the floor with you," Valentino gave a big fanged grin, "In fact I think I owe you a few licks. Let's take this outside hmm?" 

Valentino exited the room and the thugs shoved Diel right behind him. The shoving was superfluous, Valentino deserved a good beating, that cocky little fuck. When they reached the alleyway behind the club, Valentino handed his coat to one of the thugs, revealing an expensive looking vest and tie ensemble that definitely set him back a couple of hundred dollars. 

Diel wasn't stupid and knew that there were two things that made this jackass so damn tough. Two vampiric disciplines named Potence and Celerity. Celerity is basically the ability of a vampire to use his blood to allow super human feats of speed. This was usually not a problem, since Diel could simulate the discipline by dispersing yang chi throughout his body. It was Potence, or the ability to make one's vampiric blood more potent that is scary. This use of blood enables Valentino to become superhumanly strong; a feat which Diel could not fully imitate. 

Diel took a good look at Valentino to size him up. He kept staring as if he was trying to look beyond Valentino until he could find what he wanted, Valentino's life aura. Aura reading is the first lesson taught to those who learn the discipline of yang prana and it comes in handy. It told Diel a few things; A. Valentino was still 100% vampire, B. Valentino was still a total jackass, and C. it tipped Diel off to whenever Valentino was about to use one of those nice little abilities of his. 

Diel switched to a stance where he was on the balls of his feet so his footwork could be as quick as possible. If he was going to make Valentino lose his cool he will have to be a little showy to do it. 

Valentino made the first move by charging Diel and trying a blind swing. Diel just ducked under and caught Valentino with a fist to the chin that sent him stumbling back a few steps. A yellow energy diffused throughout Valentino's aura: Celerity. This time Diel made the first move, but was easily side stepped by his quicker opponent. Diel's attacks, however, were not as ill placed as Valentino's and left little time for Valentino to get a strike in. 

He continued to dodge Diel's punches until they started to land dangerously close to their mark. With a grunt of frustration, Valentino started to block attacks until he had to focus all of his energy into keeping himself from getting hit. Diel capitalized on this by feigning a punch, switching to a more solid footing, and catching Valentino right in the jaw with a kick. This time, Valentino was sent stumbling until he fell into a puddle. 

A diffusion of even more yellow energy and now black energy through Valentino's aura meant trouble. This time, Diel was caught mid thought as Valentino lunged with demonic speed and smashed a fist right into Diel's chest. Diel flew back a few feet, bounced off the pavement, and eventually slammed into a dumpster, leaving a dent in the side of the metal bin. He was out cold. 

Valentino tried to brush the dirt off his suit when one of the men who was not occupied carrying Diel off to the car interrupted him and handed him a cell phone. 

"Did you do as asked?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"I knew you would have no trouble. Now I take it you have handled the situation that developed around young Mr. Duncan?" 

"Yes sir, as far as anyone knows Duncan Mathews moved away with his family. No one will come looking." 

"Perfect, Mr. Wagner would be useless if he were indisposed. I hope you did a thorough job, I'm not going to see a news report about a slaughtered family, now am I?" 

"N..No sir" 

"Good and for your sake, let us hope that you are right in this matter. You know how important this is to me."

******


	5. The hope of easy answers

******

That night Kurt did something he hadn't done in quite some time, he slept for an entire undisturbed and peaceful night. He was physically and emotionally drained and fell asleep well before the van had ever reached the mansion. He dozed off to the barrage of questions and concerned looks of the residents of the Xavier Institute who came to find him. 

He felt relieved that perhaps now, after so many weeks of internal agony at the hands of creeping doubts and malicious voices, he might have some peace. That, after so much time feeling like he was alone with his agony, there were answers. Perhaps, the indelible marks of a demon were only on the outside and not inside. Sure, this new answer meant that Kurt needed psychological help, but that was science and science had quick answers and medicine. There is no cure for being a demon. 

Kurt awoke in his bed at the institute. He rolled over and looked at his alarm clock. The alarm had been turned off and it was now 1:37 in the daytime. He got up and looked at himself in the mirror, he was a little dirty and his fur was matted down in various places; but, other than that, he looked the same way he always did. This felt right, here at the institute, amongst friends. Nay, amongst family. 

Kurt was met outside his door by Logan, who, by his appearance, seemed to have been there for quite some time. 

"How you feeling, elf?" Logan asked, trying to seem as nonchalant as ever. 

"Better." Kurt responding. 

"Good to hear it. Just so you know, the Prof wants to see you once you're ready. Not that you should rush, you do look like hell," Logan said. 

"Gee, thanks," Kurt said with playful sarcasm that had not graced Logan's ears for a while. 

Logan allowed himself a slight smile as Kurt walked away. The elf had grown on him, somewhat. 

Kurt took a long shower, got dressed, then met the Professor downstairs in his office. 

"Good morning, Kurt. I hope you slept well," said the Professor as Kurt took a seat.

"I did." 

"Wonderful. Now, Kurt, first off I feel that I should apologize for not acting sooner. Had I stepped in when I should have, things might not have gone as far as they did. And for that, I would like to apologize." After the Professor was done apologizing he brought his wheelchair up to the chair Kurt was sitting in.

"Ok, now I just want you to relax. I promise this will not hurt."

The Professor placed his hands up to Kurt's face and spread his fingers along the sides of Kurt's head. He closed his eyes and began to concentrate on Kurt's mind, allowing a flood of sounds and images into his brain. The Professor filtered through them slowly, trying to piece together a coherent flow of information. This became a very daunting task because at many points in Kurt's mind it was hard to tell what was a dream and what was a memory. Truly unbelievable stories of both romantic tragedies and horrific nightmares blurred the line between fact and fiction. They felt like memories, but also felt like dreams. The most puzzling of all was a deep rooted sense of callousness that was not a part of Kurt's character but was still anchored deep into his mind. 

As the Professor came out of his trance he gave a slight frown. 

"What is it Professor?" Kurt asked, even though he already knew the answer. 

"Well Kurt, to be honest, I am not sure what to make of all of this. Certain minds are hard to decipher in such a short amount of time." 

"Was it the dreams?" 

"Dreams, Kurt?" 

"Yes, I have them occasionally. That is where the voice first came from." 

"I see. Perhaps we should have started here, please tell me more." 

"Well, for some time now I have been having strange dreams. But, these dreams aren't ordinary, they just feel all too real. Some times I would wake up feeling horribly sad or even angry and have no idea why. Eventually, these dreams started to seep into my real life. I couldn't stop thinking about them. This led to the voice." 

"You mentioned that before, what do you mean by it?" 

"Well, at first they were small whispers that would echo through my head. Telling me things." 

"What types of things?" 

"I don't want to talk about it." 

"Ok, Kurt, we don't need to talk about that. But if you can, try to tell me more about this voice." 

"Well, sometimes it is hard to understand and can be tuned out. Other times, it is very clear and hard to ignore. It was...frightening." 

At this point Kurt looked visibly upset and had trouble choking out the last word. 

"Is there anything else you want to tell me?" 

"I...I would rather not Professor. I think I need some time to figure this out." 

"Alright, just remember I am always here whenever you need me." 

"Thanks, Professor." 

Kurt teleported back up to his room and just stood on the railing of the balcony outside his window. He did this often when he felt that he needed some time to think. It distressed him that the quick answers he was expecting from the Professor did not come. However, it was only one session. Perhaps the Professor will have more answers next time. That was rational thinking, but there was still a small doubt festering in the back of his mind. Kurt stayed on the balcony all day, he didn't feel like being bothered and wasn't very hungry. The others left him alone, he had been through a lot. 

******


	6. The history of a monster

******

Diel had laid on the hard floor for the entire day before he could claw his way to a sitting position. Unlike Cainites or Kue-jin, dhamphyrs can not take a severe beating every night and expect to arise the next day as if nothing happened. He looked around him and saw a opulently furnished room with many works of art dating back a few centuries. Whether Diel liked it or not, he was in the prince's mansion. He looked out the window and noticed that the sun was setting, it was way too late to try to make a break for it before his hosts rose for the night. 

Diel had strained himself too hard trying look out the window and had to lie back down to keep from passing out again. The door creaked open and a small figure knelt beside Diel and placed a first aid kit down next to her. She was pretty, not the type of pretty that could get someone into a magazine, but she was not too bad to look at either. She placed a small hand onto Diel's chest and felt around until she could feel the scars left from the concert. The soft features in her face contorted to portray a slight frown. 

"When are you going to stop this ridiculous religion of yours, Diel? I swear, one of these days you are going to kill yourself. No matter how many people tell you that you are immortal you can still die, remember that.," she lectured to him while getting some bandages from the kit beside her. 

"Whatever, Leena." 

Diel couldn't quite tell who it was until she spoke. Leena was a part of the Prince's herd, a group of humans who willingly allow vampires to feast on them in return for a chance to become a vampire later. A truly pathetic lot who will cling to anything and anybody with power. Most of the time, members of a herd are just used and then killed. A rare few actually receive the power they are promised. Leena helped the Prince with many of his businesses, well the legitimate ones anyhow. Since Diel was a dhamphyr, he often worked during the daytime. This unfortunately meant that he also worked frequently with Leena. Since Diel was the closest thing to real power within Leena's grasp, she obsequiously followed him. She even thought she was in love with him! Diel had fucked her once or twice, but it didn't get rid of her. She just clung to him all the more. 

"I'm serious, look at this," she said while trying to disinfect the gashes along Diel's arms. 

"Big deal," Diel said. Leena pressed down on one of the wounds, and in turn Diel let out a small yelp of pain. "Hey! What the fuck is your problem?" 

"My problem is that if you don't start taking care of yourself you are never going to live to see a ripe old age." 

"My 116th birthday is a few months away, I think that is old enough." 

"You just don't care, do you?" 

"Care about what?" 

"Does it not occur to you that some people may care what happens to you?! Do you ever consider what your actions do to the rest of us?" 

"How do my actions affect you, huh? Shit, it's my body, my life. If I fuck it up why should you care?" 

"You're hopeless!"

Leena's face turned a reddish hue. In a flash of anger, she threw the first aid kit at Diel and stormed out of the room crying. She slammed the door behind her, allowing a loud banging sound to echo throughout the mansion. 

"Women, can't do shit with 'em and it's too much damn work to kill 'em," Diel muttered to himself. 

Diel laid back down, and tried to go to sleep. If he could regain enough energy then perhaps he might be able to walk a bit the next day. 

******


	7. The thrashing demon that rages inside

******

That night Kurt was once again revisited by what he feared most, his dreams. Kurt found himself overlooking a waterfall, it felt surreal. The whole world felt like water that was rushing over him, it felt distant. This waterfall was where he was abandoned by his mother. That very one, it was…painful to look at…even though it wasn't real. It reminded him of everything, everything that hurt. Kurt shut his eyes until he was back in the pleasant shadow behind his eyelids. But even that did not help. Someone was intent on proving something…

"Kurt…?" 

"Who? Who are you?" 

"I am…" 

"Kurt Wagner…" 

"Yes, we are." 

"But I am…" 

"Yourself? Yes, yes you are…" 

"But then why…?" 

"I am you, you just fear me…"

"Fear you? I can't fear…" 

"Yourself? But you do…all the time." 

"What are you talking about!?" 

"Who are you?" 

"I am Kurt Wagner…" 

"Are you?" 

"Yes!" 

"Prove it." 

"Well I have blue fur! And…"

"Is that how you identify yourself?" 

"Huh?" 

"Hard to look at isn't it…" 

"I don't…"

"Understand…she abandoned you. Does she not love you?" 

"She…she had her reasons."

"She doesn't love you." 

"Yes she does!" 

"Prove it…" 

"Well…she…she…" 

"Coward…" 

"What!?" 

"You going to keep lying to yourself? You don't know anything…" 

"Please, stop I don't want to…"

"Hear anymore? Then run, and keep running. All you do is run, coward. Anything that hurts you run away from. You can't stand yourself!" 

"I love…" 

"Harsh word." 

"I…please stop this." 

"You're going to hear every word." 

"I hate you." 

"I know." 

"Why can't I just keep things the way they are?" 

"Because you are running." 

"And what is wrong with that!? Why can't I be happy!?" 

"Why must you be a coward? Are you going to keep renewing the same pleasant memories in your mind and just bury your head in the sand hoping the present will just go away!?" 

"There is so much hate, so much pain in this world. Why can't I keep my own?"

"That's a cowards way out!"

"Fine…I'm a coward. A worthless coward…I'm worthless." 

"Now you are just deceiving yourself."

"What do you want from me!"

"All you needed was to learn to love yourself, but you couldn't even learn to like yourself…such a shame." 

"Leave me alone!!"

Kurt's eyes burst open as his head shot up from his pillow. He was panting heavily and cold sweat ran down his forehead. It took him a while to register that he wasn't still dreaming. That night the moon shown brightly in the sky and its rays penetrated only partly through his window, masking the room in a creepy light. When Kurt realized that he was still in his room at the mansion he was able to calm down. His breathing returned to normal until the room feel silent, save for the rhythmic beating of his heart. Kurt laid his head back onto the pillow and tried to go back to sleep. Repeatedly throughout the night he would wake up from his restless slumber with an innate fear in his heart but he did not remember what had frightened him so badly. Eventually, he surrendered to his dreams and just laid in bed staring at the ceiling. This was nothing new to him. Many times before he would fend off sleep for even days at a time to keep away from his nightly demons. What a cursed existence.

*******


	8. Recruiting a demon to do the devil's wor...

*******

"Hey there pal," Diel mocked sarcastically before Valentino's massive fist again crashed against Diel's face. This looked like it was going to turn out the same way visits to the Prince's mansion usually do. The punch sent Diel's chair tumbling backwards and Diel with it. By this time, Diel's nose was completely smashed in and a few of his piercings lay on the floor. Valentino's massive arms lifted the chair Diel was tied to and righted it back up so that he was once again facing the Prince. Of course, the Prince was just sitting there at a table sipping blood out of one of goblets that one sees in those old vampire movies. The Prince was dressed in his usual Armani business suit, a tasteful navy blue with a matching tie ensemble. The Prince was anything if classy. But he was also ruthless, and Diel was sure that smug son of a bitch was enjoying himself just a little too much. The Prince was an old acquaintance of Diel's, he knew that sick shit would get a kick out of this. Especially since he considered Diel his prized pet. That came with some advantages, but in this case it meant that he needed to be disciplined. Not that Diel wasn't enjoying every little bit of it, but it's the principal of the thing that counts. 

"You will address the Prince with the proper, respect!" Valentino yelled at Diel. 

"Now Now, Valentino. Let us remember that dhamphyrs do not know any better," the Prince said in his usual slow, deliberate tone. "Now, Diel," The Prince began while getting up and lifting Diel's bloody face so Diel's eyes met his, "You must be wondering why I brought you here, hmm?" 

Diel spit some blood onto the Prince's Armani shoes, "I thought you needed a new fuckbuddy." 

This comment got Diel a hard backhanded slap across the face from the Prince. Diel needed to learn when to keep his fucking mouth shut. The Prince recomposed himself and straightened his tie. He wasn't going to let a worthless maggot like Diel fluster him like that. He was too good for that, besides Diel was HIS property and was his to break in. 

_Let me tear his fucking throat out! _

"Now, Diel Azazel. As you know I still retain the rights to you since my deal with your father was for the rest of your life. Now, seeing as you ran away for 15 years I feel that you should explain why you came back." 

"I had stuff to take care of." 

"Ahh of course, that band of yours. Well, your new one at least. I heard you got kicked out of Germany. What a shame." 

_Look at that nice scrawny neck of his. I'd snap it like a toothpick and then I'd bash Valentino's brains in. _

It was tempting, very tempting. But pacts with one's demon never end well. 

"What happened to that other band of yours...Mayhem was it? Oh right, your friend Verg got jailed for stabbing you to "death"," At this point the Prince chuckled a bit to himself, "Then that other guy, what was his name?" 

"Ded" 

"Ahh yes, that's it. Ded slit his wrists and put a shotgun in his mouth." 

"Never happened." 

"Of course it did, Diel. Only a genius like you would have the foresight to take pictures of it before the police got there. The PR from the suicide and the backlash when you made it the next cd cover was brilliant. My pretty little pet has learned oh so much," The Prince said while stroking Diel's cheek with his freezing cold hands. 

_I'll rip that fucking hand right off! _

Sometimes his demon made some sense, that hand would look great on a necklace. 

Diel ground his teeth to keep from lunging at the Prince. While the small man before him looked like he would be easy enough to break in two, fighting him was pure suicide. "Get to the point." 

"Oh, my my, you sure are feisty tonight my pet. All right, I shall get to the point. You see, I brought you here because of the Xavier Institute." 

"Huh? You mean the one on television?" 

"Yes, that's exactly it. The one that those mutants came from when this country went up in arms at their discovery of mutants. Personally, I'm surprised it took those pathetic little humans that long to figure it out. But I digress. Those mutants live in Bayville, which is dangerously close to my territory, and I unfortunately cannot allow beings with such power to live without me knowing exactly what they are doing at all times." 

"So you are scared of them?" 

"Tsk Tsk, have you learned nothing? They are insects compared to the power which my position wields, but I have learned not to take any chances." 

"Why not send one of those ghouled humans of yours?" 

The Prince's face contorted into a slight frown as he let out a deep sigh. "First off I cannot trust a mere human with a task of this magnitude, nor will a mere human be able to infiltrate a group of mutants." 

"I got ya. It takes someone who can both walk in the daylight AND masquerade as a mutant." 

"Very good." 

"Now, what am I going to get out of it?" 

The Prince was taken aback by such a comment. This was his pet, when did he learn such audacity!? 

"I won't kill you for starters!" The Prince yelled back, once again flustered by his ingrate pet. 

"Ok then, how do you propose I do this?" 

"I propose you do it with the utmost haste before I grow tired of your incompetence!" 

"Alright then, all I ask is that you pull some strings with the local television stations." 

"What are you saying?" 

"I'm saying that from what I have heard the Xavier institute is there to help mutants with problems, so I'm not going to get in if I am under his prospective radar." 

"Go on." 

" The way I see it the Xavier institute must be exclusive if it really is all just charity work. So, I'm going to need to get his attention. What better way than an intricate story on the underground black metal scene, say that I'm a mutant and throw in the fact that I am now in Bayville and the humans should do what they do best, fight off anything they perceive as a threat. Shit, someone might even try to kill me! Wouldn't that get noticed!" 

"This seems that you just want me to help your career." 

"It is a nice bonus." 

"I still don't get how this is going to get anything accomplished."

"That's just phase one, those Xavier kids go to a high school around here, right?" 

"Yes, but get to the point. This drivel is boring me." 

"Well, enroll me there. Bring it right to em. I'll just take a bunch of modern history classes or something, I was alive for must of it anyway. After that, just let things happen as they will." 

"Unlike you, I do not believe in just allowing events to occur, I like being in control of the situation." 

"Don't forget you are talking with a dhamphyr, a creature basking in improbability. Joss will make something happen, I can assure it."

"Fine, but remember, Diel, I'm giving you a second chance at life, so don't fuck it up!"

Second chance at life? That sure was a grandiose way of saying be my bitch or I'll kill you. But, this did buy Diel some time to figure out what's going on, the Prince wouldn't go to all this trouble for something as pathetic as a bunch of mutants. 

******


End file.
